


Ice Cream and Wine

by remanth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Date, Fluff, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft works up his courage to ask Greg on a first date. But how will Greg feel when he realizes it actually is a date?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream and Wine

It had been a long year for Mycroft, made even longer by tirades from his younger brother Sherlock. While the detective was indeed doing the little missions Mycroft had for him, Sherlock was not at all happy about it. Yet, to keep him out of London, Mycroft would deal with the tirades. After all, it wasn’t as if Sherlock wasn’t looking for Moriarty’s network at the same time. Yet this past year had been a series of putting out brush fires in the government (and a few others but who was counting?) and dealing with Sherlock. It was time to do something for himself.

“You can do this, Mycroft,” Mycroft muttered to himself, staring at his hands wrapped around the steering wheel of his car. He’d been sitting here, in his personal parking space at the Diogenes, for ten minutes now. Greg Lestrade occupied Mycroft’s thoughts. The DI had been working as hard as he had, trying to clear Sherlock’s name with his superiors. It had been a desperate, slow slog. Even now, Mycroft knew that Greg was working in his office long after the others had all gone home. Those long hours had, in part, led to Greg’s divorce from his wife. This whole debacle had really been the last straw. 

“You don’t know if he’s even interested,” Mycroft argued with himself, feeling a touch of annoyance at how he was acting. Even when he was an insecure teenager, he’d never acted like one. But this was important. No one had managed to get through the ice Mycroft surrounded himself with. Yet Greg had done it without even trying. “He’s been putting himself back together after the divorce and become a friend. Do you want to ruin that? But what if he becomes more than that? What if we’re the solution to each other’s loneliness? It would make sense, after all. You can do this, just go ask.”

Screwing up every ounce of his courage, Mycroft turned the car on and headed to New Scotland Yard. There was a single light on on Greg’s floor. A shadow moved in the window, arms shifting paper across a desk. Mycroft walked past the officer on duty at the front desk with a dignified nod and took the elevator to Greg’s floor. Shaking hands pressed the buttons, hands that Mycroft clasped behind his back to hide the shaking. Greg looked up at the footprints, waving at Mycroft through his open door.

“What brings you here so late at night, Mycroft?” Greg asked, gesturing at the uncomfortable-looking chair on the other side of his desk. “I would have thought you’d be home asleep by now, dreaming of taking over the world.”

“And I could say the same for you, Greg,” Mycroft replied, smiling as he settled into the chair. He clasped his hands over his knee, hoping the other man didn’t see the shaking. It was taking a phenomenal effort to keep his voice from trembling but Mycroft was managing it. “Dreaming of ridding London of criminals, yes?”

“I would love to be put out of a job because of that,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair and stifling a yawn behind the other one. “Yet, crime continues, people do bad things, and paperwork keeps me stuck at my desk. Really, what brings you here? Is there something wrong with Sherlock? I’ve been keeping an eye on John so I know it’s not him.”

“No, it isn’t Sherlock that brings me tonight,” Mycroft replied, hedging just a bit. While they made small talk like this, Mycroft could enjoy the last moments before everything might go crashing down. But every moment must come to an end. “Truth be told, _you_ bring me here tonight, Inspector.”

Mycroft trailed off, his courage failing him. Twisting his fingers together tightly, Mycroft looked away from Greg’s confused eyes. The silence grew between them. It was full of tension and curiosity and Mycroft forced himself not to squirm from it. Sighing, Greg closed the file he’d been looking at and sat back in his chair, the very model of patience. While he had no idea what Mycroft wanted, he could tell it was important to the other man. The silence stretched as Greg continued to study Mycroft. Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Mycroft, what are you trying to say?” Greg asked quietly, keeping his voice even and calm. It was a technique that had worked on his daughter after a nightmare or on recalcitrant suspects. “You can tell me, I’m not going to bite.”

“Well, I was thinking that I needed a break after everything that’s happened this last year,” Mycroft said, chuckling quietly at Greg’s joke. “And that you might need one as well. So I thought maybe we could have dinner some night. There’s a new restaurant near the Diogenes that looks very good.”

“Dinner actually sounds like a great idea,” Greg said, smiling as his stomach chose that moment to rumble. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything more than a biscuit since breakfast. Are they open now or do we need to wait for another day? It isn’t the small hours of the morning yet but most restaurants are closed now.”

“They’re open now,” Mycroft replied, smiling back and breathing a silent sigh of relief. That had gone much better than he’d worried. And if Greg didn’t realize he’d proposed a date, that was all right. Mycroft could work up to that. “They’re actually open twenty-four hours a day. I’m not quite sure why but I do appreciate it.”

“Let me just put some of this paperwork away, or as away as its going to get, and I’ll be ready,” Greg said, shuffling papers around on his desk. He stacked a few in a corner near his computer, the file he’d been looking at going onto the top. Some more went into an outbox while others went into the top drawer of his desk. Shutting down his computer was the last step and Greg stood up, shrugging into his coat. Mycroft stood as well, all trembling and nervousness gone. They made small talk while heading to Mycroft’s car as Greg had taken a cab into work that morning.

Traffic was almost nonexistent and the trip was made quickly. Street lights lighted Greg’s face and Mycroft couldn’t help glancing over each time they did. He appreciated the other man’s features, humor dancing in his eyes as Greg related a story about one of his early cases. The restaurant was busy but not overly so when Mycroft pulled up. Mycroft allowed one of the parking attendants to take his car and reminded himself that the hard part was already over when his stomach started twisting into knots again. It was actually happening, something that he hadn’t done since his early days at university. And Greg was a worthy man, confident and strong enough to stand his own with Mycroft.

“I love Greek food,” Greg remarked as they passed by diners with plates of food on their way to their own table. “How long has this place been open?”

“A couple weeks I believe,” Mycroft answered, pulling out Greg’s chair and waiting until he’d sat down before settling into his own. It was Mycroft’s version of flirting but could be taken as manners if Greg chose. “What would you like? Red or white wine?”

Greg opened his menu, indecisive. The list of dishes sounded delicious as did the wines. Finally, he shrugged and shook his head. Setting his menu down for now, Greg said, “Why don’t you choose? I don’t mind either way.”

Mycroft ordered a bottle of white wine when their server came to the table as well as an appetizer. Since this night may be the only one he got, Mycroft intended it to last a while. They made more small talk while waiting, sipping at the wine once it was poured. Greg drank his glass before Mycroft had half-finished his, a pleasant warmth stealing over him. Wine wasn’t something Greg drank often and it was a nice change. Soon, he was laughing with Mycroft as if they were old friends, years of history between them. Also a nice change as Greg had been a bit of a loner since the divorce.

“I have to admit, I think I may be falling a bit in love with the food here,” Greg said once he’d sampled the dinner he’d ordered. “Everything is absolutely delicious. Thanks for inviting me along on your break, Mycroft. I think I’ve been shuttling between my flat and my office for a little too long.”

“You’re very welcome, Greg,” Mycroft nodded, tipping his glass towards Greg in a small salute. He had been alternating bites of food with staring at Greg. While Mycroft wouldn’t say he was memorizing the moment and the other man’s face, that was exactly what he was doing. This was the most fun he’d had in a long time and that was actually a rather depressing report of Mycroft’s social life.

They finished their meals at a leisurely pace, consuming their first bottle of wine and a second of white that Greg ordered. While it may have just been the lighting, Greg felt as if the light was turning buttery and warm. It had all the earmarks of a date and Greg was surprised at how relaxed he was. Dating had been so far down on his list of priorities that it may have been nonexistent. And Mycroft wouldn’t have been Greg’s first choice for a date. Yet, it was easy and natural. The night took on an even stronger date feel when they ordered dessert and realized they’d both ordered the same thing.

“So, ice cream a guilty pleasure?” Greg joked, taking a sip of his wine again. “I have to admit, it’s mine.”

“I think that if something is a pleasure, then it shouldn’t be guilty,” Mycroft said quietly, smiling at Greg. “And yes, ice cream is a pleasure of mine. I love putting hot fudge on it.”

Their desserts, a brownie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream covered in hot fudge, were brought and Greg couldn’t help watching as Mycroft savored his. There was something in the way Mycroft had spoken about pleasure, a lilt to his voice, that Greg couldn’t quite get out of his head. And now, Mycroft turned eating ice cream into an almost seductive display, the spoon sliding in and out from between his lips slowly. Greg would be lying through his teeth if he said it wasn’t arousing yet said nothing. This was a friendly meal between friends, right? Yet he doubted. Greg finished his dessert first, sitting back in his chair and sipping at his wine. It was sweet and complemented the lingering taste of ice cream and chocolate on his tongue. The server brought the check, which Mycroft took before Greg could even reach for it.

“I can pay for mine,” Greg said, reaching for the little black folder.

“I invited you, it’s my treat,” Mycroft argued, resolutely holding onto the folder and pulling out a credit card. “I insist, Greg.”

“All right but next time I pay,” Greg said, mock-glaring at Mycroft until the other man laughed and nodded. Greg was sad that the evening had come to an end, but there was really nothing left to linger over. Mycroft finished his own wine as the waiter brought his card back and he signed. Mycroft stood up at the same time as Greg, walking slowly through the restaurant as they talked a little further. The drive to Greg’s house was filled with talk of Sherlock and how Mycroft was dealing with the sometimes-difficult detective. Once in his driveway, Greg turned to Mycroft and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“This was fun,” Greg said, tilting his head to the side as he considered his next words carefully. “I enjoyed it. But, tell me something Mycroft. This whole night, I felt like I was on a date. Was that what you were intending?”

“Why don’t you think about what answer you want tonight and ask me again tomorrow?” Mycroft suggested, fear stilling any other words on his tongue. “Have a good night, Greg.”

“Good night,” Greg said after a few seconds. He got out of the car and let himself into his house, mind working furiously. What answer did he want? What kind of relationship did he want to have with Mycroft Holmes? Greg leaned back against his front door once it was closed, eyes unfocused as he considered. Perhaps it was time for change, time for taking chances and seeing where decisions based on emotion led. Pulling out his phone, Greg sent a quick text and smiled. And that night, he slept more contentedly than he had for a while.

Mycroft watched as Greg walked into his flat then pulled away onto an empty street. Anxiety and hope warred in his chest, tangling his insides into knots. What had possessed him to answer with a question rather than a direct sentence? What if Greg had been all right with it being a date but thought _Mycroft_ himself hadn’t wanted it to be? Mycroft’s mind worked in circles as he drove, convincing him further that this whole thing had been a mistake and he’d probably just lost one of his only friends. But before Mycroft could completely convince himself that he’d screwed up horribly, his phone beeped.

I think our first date went very well. When would you like to have the second? - Greg


End file.
